


Mercy, my child.

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave doesn't delude himself, he knows there's no hope for him. Not now. All he wants is to know that his child will see better days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Soundwave stood silently as he waited for his turn on the stand. 

Assembly style they were lined up, each of them with stasis cuffs on and surrounded by Autobots on every side. Starscream was trussed up so tightly he could see grooves in the flyer’s armor, mouth moving in silent threats and curses since they’d turned his vocalizer off.

Impassionate optics looked on as each Decepticon was read their warcrimes and sentenced. Crimes against culture, against Cybertron. Against living beings.

If it had been the Decepticons who’d won the war, Soundwave knew there would have been nothing so organized. 

But Megatron was gone. 

Shot down by the Prime, who’d looked just as shocked as the rest of them. 

Starscream had ordered the retreat, and for once no one questioned his motives. They turned tail and ran until they were all shut inside the Nemesis. 

Eventually, they had to venture outside for energy. Starscream was a talented flyer, but there was no respect from the armada. They followed him only as much as it suited them, Soundwave included. Their newly founded disarray caused their downfall, however. No one wanted the boring job of lookout, because now lookouts weren’t guaranteed a share of the Energon. It was a feeding frenzy. A free-for-all that often as not left someone dead on the floor. 

Medical services were bargained for. Nothing was freely given. Where Megatron had kept the bloodthirst directed at something, it had become a state of being.

So few by few they were captured, until the core group was nothing more than skeletal frames powered by fumes. It seemed as though the Autobots had been everywhere they had gone. Each power plant, each oil refinery. Surfacing from the Nemesis led to capture, hiding on the terrain led to capture. There wasn’t enough fuel to get them off the planet.

There was nothing left for the remainder of the once proud Decepticons. 

So here Soundwave stood. Shuffling forward every few breems. Legs and arms locked tight in stasis cuffs.

He knew what he faced. 

If it wasn’t deactivation, it was complete reformatting. There was no rehabilitation. 

And he, the third in command to Megatron, would not accept a reformat.

Not before his last task was finished.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Optimus Prime kept his emotions locked up tight as he went through each trial. It was cursory, not one of them long enough to mount a defence, but it was necessary. Each was given a moment to speak, then handed a decision. Those who were too dangerous he sentenced to deactivation, but there were some who would be made useful in rebuilding their home.

Reformats were another story. Stripping a mech of everything he was and reinstalling base coding. Adding in specific data packets and treating them as if they were pre-programmed. It would make those that had specialty frames useful nearly immediately, without the refractory period that was required with rehabilitation. 

It was an imperfect solution, one that Optimus had thought long and hard on before reluctantly agreeing to. Their world was a wasteland, all but dead because of their war. Here he had the means to start repairs and construction immediately. As the Prime, his directive was to protect and commune with his people. This was the restart that they all needed, in order to begin to once again be a thriving race.

Still, with each mech that came forward he passed judgement sadly. Listening to impassioned pleas for mercy, for death. To threats and curses against his name and the Autobot assembly. Each and every mech given a chance to talk before his word, his law, became truth.

“Deactivation.”

Motormaster was dragged off, still seething.

“Deactivation.”

Shockwave walked alongside his guards, helm held high.

“Reformat.”

The Constructicon gestalt howled their rage.

“Deactivation.”

Starscream’s wings quivered, but he sneered. Hiding his fear behind colorful curses.

And then the last one. Soundwave. Standing stoically at the end of the line. His talents would be an asset, to be sure, but with the mech’s telepathy they would never be sure if those around him were untampered with.

He read the list of warcrimes against Soundwave, optics not leaving the faceplates of the last mech on trial. There was no belligerent yelling, no cries that he was a mockery of a Prime. Nothing. Soundwave stood silent. Expectant. Unmoving until Optimus reached the end of his speech.

“Is there anything you wish to say before a verdict is handed down?”

The barely visible tremor that passed through the navy mech was all Optimus needed to sit straighter in his chair.

“Soundwave: Asks permission to speak privately with the Prime.”

Ironhide spoke up before Optimus could. “Denied. Speak yer piece here or not a’tall.”

“Soundwave:...”

The mech seemed to be bolstering himself. A hand strayed to his cassette door, then curled into a fist. 

“Soundwave: Carrying.”

The chaos that erupted in the hall was tremendous.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus stood just inside the door to the medical bay, arms crossed over his windshield. He couldn’t imagine Soundwave using a fake sparkling to stall proceedings, even if Ironhide seemed to think so. 

When Ratchet walked toward him, he vented a breath of air he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Soundwave is indeed sparked up, then.”

Ratchet gave him a look, but nodded.

“You know what this means. You’ll have to substitute sire here. Spark energy, transfluid and protomass donation. You’ll be the anchor code for the newspark when Soundwave is gone.”

The Prime lifted his hands up. “You know there is no other option. Not one I will accept.”

“You wouldn’t be our Prime if there was.” Ratchet reset his vocalizer. “Okay. We might as well do the initial spark sharing here, so I can oversee and make sure nothing happens. After that, I assume you will be making arrangements?”

Optimus nodded. “Grapple and Hoist are already working on it.”

“Then let’s get this over with.”

They both walked back to the exam room where Soundwave was cuffed to the table. Ratchet tapped on the monitor once, then turned to Optimus. Letting him know with a slight nod that he was ready.

“Soundwave, do you understand what my substitute sire duties are?”

The cassette deck nodded. “Soundwave: Understands. Soundwave: Will comply with all necessary activities.”

There was a sharp vent, then Optimus climbed up and straddled Soundwave; battle mask still on, as if shielding him from the sharing. His windshield slid aside and his chestplates opened, bright light flooding the room. Soundwave shuddered beneath him, but no one mistook it for arousal. A Prime’s spark was a powerful thing. Capable of healing those who were sick or devouring those who were deemed unworthy. Capable of granting divine pleasure and trapping a mech within his own body. Unable to communicate with processor but connected to external sensors.

There was a grinding sound as Soundwave forced his own chest to open. His amber spark barely even visible against the divine white that shone over it. White hands grasped the sides of the medical berth tightly enough to dent it. 

Energy intermingled between them. Optimus lowered himself enough that his spark energy flooded into Soundwave and they both braced themselves as the transference began. Soundwave’s bitterness and anger, Optimus’ sadness and resolve, all mixing and percolating. The navy mech was passive, not doing anything to help or hinder the process. Letting himself be used as a melting pot for both of their energies that already he could feel the newspark sucking up.

Optimus couldn’t see the tiny spark, but the instant he connected with Soundwave he could feel it. A tiny leech, voracious in its appetite for energy. It sucked up and consumed the extra energy that was created until it was satisfied. Weaving layer upon layer of thrumming miasma armor around it’s core, the basis of the crystaline shell that protected all sparks.

There was pain in the merge. They were not lovers, not connected intimately in the way most are when spark sharing with the intent to create. They were simply fulfilling their duties. It created a disharmonious ring that encircled them, clashing loudly when it struck a tangled knot of emotions from either of them.

The pain only ebbed when Optimus pulled back, sealing his spark once again behind chestplates and climbing off of Soundwave. 

“I will be back once quarters are completed.”

Ratchet looked at Soundwave as he slowly shut his chest, not even trying to lever himself up from the berth. Shaking his helm, he followed Optimus out and shut the door.

Soundwave ignored the beep that told him he was locked inside. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ratchet considered himself a lucky mech. There were not many who could claim to have spark-shared with the Prime, and fewer still who could claim that they did it out of pleasure. 

He had never seen Optimus spark sharing with another, but he could feel the difference within the energy that swirled before him. There was no pleasure that radiated outward. No arousal that tickled his EM field. It was pure power and determination that flowed from the Prime’s spark. A giving of energy. It was not reciprocal, nor was it meant to be. This was nothing like what Ratchet knew, and yet there was a foul taste in his mouth as he watched. 

The Prime was not exclusive. If that were the case, Ratchet himself would never have been offered a taste. He spread healing throughout his crew with meticulous care, always seeming to be where he was needed. Ratchet couldn’t figure out if that was part of being Divine or if it was just a part of Optimus’ core programming. 

And it didn’t really even matter, anyway. 

Soundwave let out a pained grunt as a lash of energy reached into his spark crystal, latching on to what Ratchet had to assume was the newspark. It pulsed slowly once, then rapidly as energy was sucked from the merge to be absorbed and used.

Duty. It was the Prime’s duty to foster as Sire to any newsparks that needed it. They were too few to argue that a newspark was malicious before it was its own mech. 

It was Ratchet’s duty to care for Soundwave now, and the newspark later. One he would not shirk in.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When it was ready, Soundwave was shown to a small room off of the Prime’s. He did not delude himself into thinking it was just for ease of access. 

The process of carrying was not unfamiliar to him, though carrying a cassette frame was much less intensive than a fully split spark frame. Cassettes were pieces of his own spark, rolled and phased into their own being. No other creator was needed, no other energy was needed. He had somewhat foolishly believed that a merged spark would be the same. Taking energy from him, no need to even inform the sire. That the mech never knew he’d kindled was irrelevant, since he was long dead now. But it had been difficult those few weeks between the true sire’s death and being captured to function properly. The drain on his spark was so much more than he’d anticipated that getting up each cycle had been a steadily increasing effort. 

He was also under no delusion that he would have lasted much longer on his own anyway. They’d been running on fumes so long that Soundwave wasn’t entirely sure how the newspark hadn’t petered out. There was a flash of pride that flooded through him that the spark was strong enough to survive, threaded alongside sorrow that it was strong enough to survive.

His cassettes were gone. Some taken by death, the rest reformatted and given to the Autobot communications specialist. The thin tendrils that stretched between them and him so silent they might as well be nonexistent. 

They would not see him again. That alone was reason to grieve. 

So Soundwave sat on the edge of a comfortable but plain berth. Helm bowed, touching his glass door and wondering if he’d be allowed to hold the sparkling before deactivation.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ratchet had placed monitors and trackers all over Soundwave’s frame. Some monitoring his own systems, some looking at the amount of energy the newspark was draining per joor. 

Since being infused with the Prime’s spark energy, it was more vivacious than ever. The navy mech’s own spark felt crowded, and every time the newspark’s nearly finished crystal scraped against his, pain shot through his systems.

He paced around the room, hoping that movement would soothe his creation. It was nearly ready to slip down from his chest into his gestational chamber and begin crafting a frame. A final merge would push it to that edge, and he was increasingly anxious to see it happen.

When Optimus finally opened the door, relief poured through Soundwave. His arms reached out partway, before he pulled them back. Walking back to the berth and laying down, frame trembling as he waited for the Prime to act.

Optimus walked over to the berth, touching Soundwave’s shoulder briefly.

It shouldn’t have been any different, save for the growing need for spark energy, but there was a need that filled Soundwave that had nothing to do with the newspark. Optimus was his only anchor, his only contact with another mecha. The desire to be close was stronger than his desire to only suffer through minimal contact. 

His chassis was hot to the touch. Air slowly rising, distorting the air between them. Soundwave’s legs shifted slightly, giving just enough of an opening to be seen as an offer and small enough that a refusal wouldn’t be taken poorly.

There was a pause, then the Prime gently pushed his legs apart. Settling between them snugly and carefully. His touches were almost professional and Soundwave immediately wished he hadn’t offered. The Prime wasn’t touching him. It was a touch that had seen many mecha before, and would see many more in the future.

It was an impersonal touch. A passionless touch.

Soundwave had not expected passion, not from the Prime, so he wondered why he felt such disappointment and embarrassment now that he was being touched the way his frame craved. 

Tension thrummed within him as he struggled with the commands to open his chestplates. When they finally did and the energy began to pour into the newspark, it zapped them both cheerfully. Zipping back and forth in its limited space, gorging on energy until it began to sink. Lower and lower until Soundwave could feel it scraping along the bottom of his chest cavity. 

He gave a wordless cry and tried to sit up, struggling under the Prime’s grip.

“No, stay. It is only looking for a way through.”

His processor grasped the commands and he stilled. 

The scraping was uncomfortable but he waited. Not moving until a spot of burning heat suddenly bloomed and a noise that could never have been mistaken for human coming out of his vocalizer. The burning formed a line from chest cavity to abdomen, then as abruptly as it started... 

It stopped. 

Soundwave lay venting heavily, visor spitting static.

Carefully, the Prime moved up, tucking his spark away as he went. He looked into Soundwave’s chest, then made a satisfied sound.

“It’s moved down. No more spark merges will be needed.”

Soundwave refused to give the tiny crying voice inside of him any attention.

“Soundwave: Understands.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was impossible to share protomass without pleasure. 

Where sparksharing did not have to cause pleasure and it was possible for even transfluid donations to be done without arousal, protomass was their very being. To touch it was pleasurable. Intensely so.

Soundwave felt more out of his depth than he’d ever felt before. His body armor was neatly piled next to the wall, the Prime’s stacked next to it. His optics skidded over the blue/gray of the Prime. Hands clenching as he fought the urge to curl and hide in a corner. He could see sparklight shining through the cracks on his chest and there was a feeling of terror at being so exposed in front of a powerful mech.

A hand was extended and Soundwave couldn’t stop the trembling of his own as he reached out to clasp it. At the connection of their hands pleasure burst through him. This was primal, nearly mammalian in nature. Where a spike and valve were constructs linked to the pleasure center in their processors, here they were linked only to the basic systems. They were nothing that could be considered robotic by any Earthen means. 

They were celestial in this form. Incapable of causing pain or suffering to another because it would be reverberated back into them. It was why they had built their metallic exoskeletons in the first place. To be able to touch and work without the limitation of being linked to whoever they touched.

Most protomass donations were done via a specialty surgeon. Where parts were cored out from the sire’s protoform and injected into the carrier’s gestational chamber directly. The old way of doing it was considered impractical and uncultured. It had no place in a world of technology. 

Here there was no specialty surgeon. Here there was only Soundwave and Optimus Prime.

So Soundwave was eased back on the berth, the air around them shimmering and glittering from the heat that rose from their bodies. Pleasure so pure it hurt jolting through him as the Prime touched him. Space opening up between his legs, caving inward. Accepting the Prime’s protomass as it shifted outward and impaled him. Giving voice to pleasure that was harmonic and alien to even his altered senses. 

There was a haze that surrounded him and Soundwave floated without anything but the Prime to anchor him. Every time his hands grasped the other Cybertronian there was bliss. Every time he was impaled further onto the Prime’s protomass noises of sheer want erupted from him. A cacophony of sound between them that shattered any preconceived notions Soundwave had towards protomass sharing. Without realizing what he was doing, he tried to pull the Prime inward. Mass from where they were connected becoming his own. A heavy feeling between his legs as more and more mass was given. Legs coming up and wrapping around the imagined idea of hips, arms locked around shoulders. 

Crying out without words as he felt each rush of mass enter his protoform and join his own. 

When the final crescendo of pleasure washed over Soundwave and the Prime carefully disengaged, there were no words. 

But when the Prime left, Soundwave found that even disconnected to most of his systems he could still cry.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Optimus.”

The Prime shook his helm. 

“No, Ratchet. I will not talk about it with Smokescreen.”

The medic vented. 

“You can’t tell me it isn’t happening. I can see it with my own optics, Optimus. I’m not blind.”

Optimus was still. Sitting with his hands steepled in front of his face.

“You know he can’t be allowed to live.”

There was a grinding sound, a sign that Optimus was frustrated. 

“Ratchet, do you know how many times I have been asked to foster-sire?”

The question threw Ratchet off guard.

“No?”

With a deep vent, Optimus looked over to the vidscreen that hung on his wall. Several image recalls popped up and slotted themselves together.

“I have been the foster sire for six sparklings. I can tell you about each and every one of them. What they liked to do, how they acted when they thought no one was looking, what their favored mix of Energon was...”

Ratchet kept silent. 

“And not one of those sparklings even knew what I had done for them. Protocol. I cannot sire my own sparklings. I can never spark share with the intent to create, because in doing that I would recreate my partner’s spark as well.”

Optimus rubbed a hand over his faceplates.

“This is the only opportunity I will have to truly become a sire, Ratchet.”

There was silence as each of the six pictures faded from the vidscreen. Replaced by Soundwave, huddled in his room with his arms resting on a steadily increasing abdomen.

“I will do what needs to be done, Ratchet. Allow me my time now.”

Twinges of jealousy picked at Ratchet’s spark but he said nothing, just nodded his helm and turned around. Walking out of Optimus’ office without looking back.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

There were times when Soundwave missed his cassettes more than others. With his chronometer disabled, he had no idea how long he’d been in his room. No idea if they were even still using Terran or Cybertronian references for time. 

Image recalls were all he truly had left of his own cassettes. The empty feeling inside his subspace called out for compact frames to fill it. To connect with him in any way possible. His arms longed to hold them, his spark longed to connect with theirs. His optics longed to just look at them once more.

Often he caught himself lost within his own processor. It was the only safe space that he had here, the only place where he could allow himself the luxury of breaking down. 

The sparkling shifted around within his gestational chamber, pulling Soundwave’s attention away from the pain of memories. He smoothed a hand over his bare protoform, venting heavily as the motion produced a soothing feeling. Briefly, sorrow passed through him as he thought of how much time was left. So little in comparison to their lifespans. Soon enough he would be standing again before the council, arms and body empty, as if he had never born a sparkling at all.

He found that there were indeed more tears he had to cry. A reservoir of them that must have been buried deep within, waiting for this moment, even though he knew that the future would find more. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“There are times when I do not wish being the Prime on anyone, and others when I want nothing more than to give it away.”

Optimus let himself relax into the lounger. He sipped on a cube of Energon, rolling the liquid around his mouth before swallowing it.

“When I was a dock worker, I had plans for my future. I was going to bond Ariel, Elita One now, and sire as many sparklings as I could get away with.”

He settled down even further, slouching against the fabric.

“And then I suddenly became the Prime. I could have nothing that I wanted. No bond, no sparklings, no normal life.”

Another sip.

“So when I was told that one of my duties was to be a foster sire for anyone who needed it, I was happy. Thrilled that even in part I would be able to raise a sparkling.”

“Except you weren’t?”

A sad laugh. 

“Not at all. I couldn’t help raise them. They never even knew who I was. Only one even made it to his final frame upgrade because of this blasted war.”

“You think that you’ll get that chance with Soundwave then? That this is the chance you never got with the others?”

There was silence for a time, both mechs still in their seats.

“To those who have never sired a sparkling, what I am doing seems both incredibly strange and incredibly absurd. Spark sharing requires nothing but a common goal for both parties. Transfluid donation does not have to be pleasurable for the carrier. Protomass donation is different.”

Doorwings perked up.

“Different how?”

Optimus shifted.

“There is no way to not be connected. Our innermost beings are physically entwined. It is as if...” Optimus faltered. “It is as if Primus himself enters you for that brief time that you are together. I care for Soundwave because I cannot do anything but.”

Smokescreen leaned back.

“Ratchet is worried that you are becoming too attached.”

A scowl appeared on Optimus’ face.

“I understand what needs to be done. We have fought this war for too long to allow anything to stand in the way of ending it.”

His hands clenched hard enough to break the Energon cube’s containment field, the purple fuel splashing down to cover his torso. Smokescreen just reached into his subspace and pulled out a rag, offering it to the Prime.


	4. Chapter 4

There was no way for anyone involved to miss that Soundwave was carrying.

His protoform gleamed and shone. Covered with a fine layer of fluid that helped his growing girth expand without damaging it irreparably. There was a noticeable difference in how he moved as well, though Optimus would never mention that it resembled a waddle to anyone. 

With each time cycle that passed, the Prime found it more and more difficult to keep himself from the sharing. He had kept most of himself out of the spark merges, only donating energy and drawing back. Transfluid donation had always been pleasurable for him, but now Soundwave was accepting them more readily. Urging him on with small shifts of hips, the smallest of noises. 

It was enough to crack him.

Optimus was Prime. He could not afford to lose himself within Soundwave, not when he knew that at the end of this lay deactivation. 

He could not love. 

It wasn’t acceptable to love one. That meant that he favored one, and Primus’ vessel could not favor one over another.

So Optimus could not afford to grow lax, even as he wished nothing more than to gather Soundwave in his arms and spirit them all away to some uncharted planet. He had to keep himself as distant as possible.

The thread that tied him to the sparkling grew thicker with each passing cycle and Optimus wondered if he was strong enough to break it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Optimus couldn’t help but notice Soundwave’s growing form. From the astrosecond he stepped into the berthroom until the one he left, his optics were glued to the distended abdomen. 

He had no true sire protocols, rather he had the specialized ones that were only coded into Primes. They desired to share as much of themselves as they could, to create a strong sparkling. One who would not only survive, but would go on to be a strong and capable mecha. 

That didn’t stop threads from fragmenting and creating their own trees, however. And his hands ever desired to reach out and cup Soundwave’s gestational chamber. To croon lullabies that were wordless and alien to even him.

Soundwave would hold him just right when he donated transfluid and protomass, so that if Optimus wasn’t careful, he could forget himself. Forget that this was all his duty and that the mech he held was no lover.

Optimus had never been able to take a lover long enough for either of them to learn what the other liked. This was the longest he’d ever foster-sired, and the only time he’d ever had to donate protomass. Each and every aspect added up to put him in a place that was dangerous. In a place that he could forget about the outside world for a moment.

That was a heady feeling for someone who’d never been allowed to deviate from his function, for even a moment.

His hands expressed what he would never be able to say.

When he carefully arranged Soundwave over the berth, it was because his words were being held back.

When he told Soundwave exactly what he was doing, it was because he couldn’t offer the encouragement that he wanted to.

When his hands strayed just a tiny bit during sharing, so that they passed over the growing sparkling, it was because he couldn’t hold him tight.

There was a lightness that came over him that he knew came from seeing Soundwave. It was a lessening of the burdens that held heavy over his spark, almost as if this place, this feeling, brought him a respite from being The Prime.

Here, he was Prime but he was also something else. He was Sire. Creator. 

Smokescreen had sat quietly when he listened, offering no outward judgement. Smokescreen and Soundwave were the only ones who did not offer him advice. Who did not offer him alternatives. 

Perhaps, Smokescreen was the only one to understand. 

And Soundwave was the only one who held him like a co-creator would. 

Optimus Prime took what they gave him, almost selfishly, because he wanted. Even though it wasn’t real...

It was real enough. For his processor, for his spark.

For the moment.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You’re slipping, Optimus.”

Said mech growled. 

“I have told you. I will do what is required.”

Ratchet snarled back.

“You expect me to believe that you will sentence Soundwave to deactivation now? I have seen the way you look at him!”

Fists slammed against the desk hard enough to dent.

“Have you ever shared protomass, Ratchet!? Have you ever been completely inside of another Cybertronian, not just connected via hardware!?”

Blue optics flashed.

“You know I haven’t. There hasn’t been much time to just take off all of my armor for a romp in the berth, Optimus.”

Optimus roared, flinging his desk across the room and advancing on Rachet. 

“You can’t understand even a fraction of what is happening within that room! I have shared enough of myself to create a temporary bond with Soundwave in the name of saving this sparkling, then I will sentence him to deactivation and watch him die. _A part of me will die with him, Ratchet!_.”

They stood pede to pede, staring at each other. Each venting heavily from the force of their emotions. 

“You have already changed more than you think.”

“Then perhaps it is a good thing that we know how this will end.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Soundwave had bet upon the Prime’s kindness of spark to save his sparkling. Though at first he desired only to impress strength of character and frame upon his creation, as the clock ticked downward he found himself turning inward more often. Communing with the tiny spark in the language of parents. Emotions, upturned inflection... Hands seeming to reside only upon his distended protoform. They stroked back and forth, up and down. Mapping the planes of his abdominals until he could tell to the microinch how much the sparkling had grown during the day.

With each sharing came a feeling that required more and more effort to be put back into the confines he’d set for it. With each bit of code he coiled and offered to the developing connections he felt more and more hard pressed to keep it strictly functional. Deck mecha were a frametype, one he wasn’t sure if his sparkling had inherited. Part of him hoped it hadn’t, just as a part of him hoped it had.

A noise came from the outer room and his spark spun just a tiny bit faster. 

His barriers were crumbling before the timeless feeling of care and love, even if they were unintentional. He longed to put aside his mouthguard and visor, and to really and truly give of himself to the Prime. The mech who had shown him as much care and compassion as if he had been any Autobot, the care and compassion that he had enjoyed long before the war had started. 

If he wasn’t careful, he could almost forget who the sparkling’s true sire was.

If he wasn’t careful, he could almost forget who he’d used to be.

If he wasn’t careful, he could forget. Everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by-  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=13641216#t13641216


End file.
